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Yoongi crinkles his eyes, feeling warm and slightly overwhelmed. Jimin just tucked a hair strand behind his ear, his laughter ringing clear in the restaurant's intimate atmosphere.
The evening is lovely, the place is gorgeous, warm lights throwing tender shadows over their food. Yoongi’s eating well, he’s having an amazing night with the most gorgeous man, but still, there's an underlying tension thrumming in his chest.
Before he started transitioning, there never was a doubt in how to swoon anyone. Yoongi's self-esteem has never been optimal, but he knows he's caring and, if he puts his heart into it, he's charming. Hell, he hasn't lost it: Jimin likes him enough for this to be their fourth date in the span of three weeks.
He simply doesn't know what's to be expected from him.
Jimin’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, his fingers grazing Yoongi’s, making him feel alive and aflame, wonderfully present in this world, like a small creature noticed by an otherworldly prince.
His gender identity has never been a secret, but it never has been a subject either. Which is good. But it also leaves him unprepared for whatever comes next.
Jimin’s demanding, cunning, infuriatingly sexy, and, mostly, he’s only ever dated cis men.
Yoongi doesn’t want it to be a thing , but he also knows his heart is going to tear his ribcage apart if he doesn’t talk about what Jimin expects of him anytime soon.
“Figures, the asshole had been making homophobic statements about me around the office. So I ended up filing a complaint for discrimination. Also, I opened the lids of each one of his coffee capsules with Tae to put salt in them before closing them again.” He downs the last of his wine before Yoongi pours him another drink. “ And ,” He goes on. “I publicly confronted and humiliated him at the Christmas office party.”
Yoongi laughs at Jimin’s fierce defense.
“How do you even put the lids back on and how long did it take?” He asks, and Jimin shrugs, elusive and terribly seductive.
“We glued them back on… It actually took us the perfect amount of time to finish watching a movie we’d started the night before.” He looks at his glass of wine, happy with himself.
“Isn’t glue poison hazard?”
“He’s an asshole but I was counting on him having enough brain cells left not to drink salted coffee.”
His cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“You’re terrible.” He tells him, and Jimin winks.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And truly, he wouldn’t. The question is, and it still threatens to spill from his lips, would Jimin have him like he is?
Yoongi tries his best to be himself, but also to be himself in the best light possible , not too anxious, or lost in his thoughts. Somehow, his attention gets bested by his nerves because he finds himself biting at the skin around his fingers without being able to stop it. He notices, but Jimin does as well, and Yoongi winces, already thinking about the prospect of hurting fingers exploring, mapping out another body, and it feels so unsexy, sitting heavy on top of all his other concerns.
“Hyung, you sure you’re okay?” Jimin asks, worry clear in his eyes, and it’s everything Yoongi’s tried to avoid all night, but he also figures he cannot eternally avoid some questions.
“You like me, right?” He asks, blunt, panning out his breathing, trying to act more assured than he feels.
Jimin blinks, taken aback, before laughing, short and sweet, eyes crinkling.
“Ruining my surprise.” He says with a smirk, acting coy. “I was planning on timidly kissing you after dinner.”
It makes Yoongi laugh, the sound rough and indisputably amused.
“Being shy is not a term I would associate you with.”
Jimin shrugs, and, under the subdued lights of the restaurant, meal finished, his hint of a lascivious posture makes him look like someone who doesn’t belong to this world, a divinity who got lost on the wrong plane of existence.
“Wanna talk, hyung?” He asks, fingers delicately cradled under his chin, and Yoongi wants to kiss his jaw so badly, but the fear isn’t gnawing at him, it’s devouring him whole.
“You know you cannot expect from me the exact same things you would’ve expected from other men, right?” He asks, breath quickening. He focuses, gets a grip on himself. It’s always hard to come out, feeling like revealing a secret while stating the absolute obvious every fucking time, while never knowing how the person you’re talking to is going to react.
Jimin frowns.
“What should I have expected from you?” He shoots back, and Yoongi deflates, unable to take an easy route this time.
He stares at his drink for a few seconds.
“To be cis.”
The other’s frown deepens.
“What would it have changed?” He asks, and Yoongi feels too anxious to stop and ponder this simple sentence of complete acceptance.
“My career was hindered because I had to change jobs multiple times before finding a place that accepted me throughout the early stages of my transition. Perks of being a late bloomer, I guess.” He looks down, gaze unfocused. ”I'm not strong, or muscular, or anything close to masculine expectations. My body is lithe, different, not what most gay men would like.” Saying these things aloud, it actually makes him feel more confident. If he has to be rejected, he want it to be on his own terms. “I’m not loud, nor do I take space, my presence is what it is. I have no intention of being someone I am not, but I do seem lacking. I would understand not being enough, or even being too much. I just need to know what to expect, and you deserve to know what you’re getting into.”
Jimin leans forward, fingers reaching for the hand Yoongi has wrapped around his glass.
“Darling, before I unpack everything, I have a question. Do I seem to check any of these characteristics out?” He asks, and Yoongi pinches his lips, sullen.
“You don’t have to.”
Jimin smiles tentatively, squeezing Yoongi’s hand. He lets their fingers intertwine.
“Then why should you?”
“I need to perform my gender in a way that will get people to accept me.” He replies without thinking about it.
The other uses his free hand to decisively wave it in front of him.
“No no, that’s where you’re mistaking yourself. You need to be yourself. And if people don’t accept you? Well they can go fuck themselves.”
It makes Yoongi smile despite himself, Jimin’s cheeky smirk echoing his amusement.
“If I was someone who would tell you I don’t want to date you because of your journey, I would be an asshole and an idiot. I know you agree with me.”
Yoongi grins.
“Right?” He replies, and Jimin winks.
“Now, I don’t care about your paycheck, or your beard implantation. Though, I’m thankful you don’t manspread. And, I’m going to be blunt. Okay?”
Yoongi smiles.
“I like blunt.”
“If we get intimate at some point, believe me, there will only be mischief and desire.”
Yoongi licks his lips, looking away, feeling a blush rising up to his cheeks.
“Yeah?”
And Jimin nods, nose wrinkling in pleasure.
“So nothing about me is an issue with you?”
The other hums, feigning being lost in thought.
“I hate your propensity to fight me for the check.”
It makes Yoongi laugh louder than intended, and he feels so much lighter than he did a few minutes ago.
“Then you will hate me for the next revelation.”
Jimin rolls his eyes.
“What did you do?”
“I paid on my way to the restroom.”
He looks seconds away from climbing on the table and strangling him in a non-homoerotic way. Yoongi likes to push his buttons and take care of him.
Sighing, Jimin accepts his defeat, head dropping down.
When he looks back up, his eyes are lidded, and Yoongi knows he’s on the menu, some way or the other.
“Will you come home with me?”
Yoongi feels conflicted. It feels nice to feel wanted, feels even better to know he won’t be rejected, on any level. He’s reassured. He really likes him. But he’s also exhausted from having had to carry these anxieties with him for so long. He’s weary, and the prospect of intimacy scares him. It still is new to him, in a way, to find someone who wants him for who he is, and also of being able to explore who he wants to be on his own and with a partner.
He decides to be honest.
“I’m a little tired. What were you thinking of?”
Jimin bites his bottom lip, smiling without a worry in the world.
“A drink back home, some cuddling, something simple.”
“As simple as that?”
“Got anything else on your mind?” He asks, and Yoongi laughs, relieved.
“Cuddling sounds perfect.”
Their discussion goes back to safer, less vital waters, and before Yoongi can overthink anything, they’re outside, the cold biting his cheeks as they wait for their car.
He’s acutely aware of Jimin shuddering, pressing closer to him. It feels both natural and electrifying to wrap his arm around his shoulders, allowing him to lean into him, grab whatever warmth Yoongi has to offer him. Jimin laughs against his neck, and this time, the cold can’t be blamed for Yoongi’s tremor.
“Why are you still warm?” He asks, frozen nose tickling his skin.
Yoongi shrugs, amused.
“My friends compare me to cats. They have higher body temperatures.” He replies, and Jimin hums, as if it’s a reasonable explanation.
Their car pulls up, and the ride back is excruciatingly slow, Yoongi hesitating on whether or not to make a move. In the end, Jimin only has to lock stares with him and gently smile for him to scoot his fingers closer, featherlike over Jimin’s leg. It has him closing his eyes, contently leaning back, hand softly finding his, fingers interlacing over his thigh.
Yoongi can feel his heart race and the panic, this time, is absolutely delicious. He sees on the chauffeur’s GPS the minutes slowly disappear, Jimin’s flat getting closer, and Yoongi’s ribcage feels like an open birdcage, a lovebird sitting below his throat, nerves aflame, feeling so very alive.
His mind blanks, the feeling of Jimin’s fingers carefully tracing his knuckles and the veins of his hand supplants any doubt that could’ve occured.
Jimin tugs him out of the car when it pulls over, opens his building door with Yoongi’s hand in his, blindly getting the elevator as Yoongi chases after him, body shrouding his as the machine creaks and brings them up, up, as Yoongi and Jimin pull ever closer, close, infinitesimally close. He can count his eyelashes, can feel his breath against his lips. Maybe his entire body is aflame, he doesn’t care anymore, he simply has to close the distance.
He does so.
Jimin’s lips are soft against his chapped ones, and Yoongi finds himself ravenously hungry, arm bracing around Jimin’s waist to pull him closer, Jimin pulling him back to haphazardly get out of his elevator, walking back, a sound escaping him, high pitched and dreamlike. Yoongi feels stunned, like he’s been pulled into a dream even the sound of Jimin’s lock opening cannot bring him back to reality.
Jimin takes a second to laugh, and Yoongi laughs as well, out of breath, delighted, suddenly too warm in the intimacy of Jimin’s place.
His host takes away their coats, pours them glasses of water and opens a couple beers Yoongi carries to Jimin’s couch. He doesn’t have the time to turn around before Jimin’s hands crawl up his stomach, his head falling between Yoongi’s shoulders.
It’s sudden and tender.
“That was a terrible confession, you know.” Jimin hums against him, Yoongi huffing. “I’ve been pining for months, only for you to casually mention my feelings in passing.” He feigns affront, before freeing Yoongi, sitting on the couch and patting the space next to him.
Yoongi shrugs, biting his bottom lip.
“I had to clear some stuff out before.” He replies before Jimin leans in, kissing his nape, embracing him again.
“You should’ve known you’d be my big guy in any case.”
It has Yoongi fully laughing, mock-trying to get rid of him, an arm still looped around his waist.
“I’m not big.”
“Come on, my small man then?”
They both snort, Yoongi pushing Jimin’s head with his forehead.
“I’m not small either, I’m going to kill you.”
Jimin kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, catches his bottom lip between his teeth, and for a moment everything else disappears, the only thing that matters being Jimin touching him, embracing him, kissing him like he’s precious and deserving of love.
“I could concede to being your boyfriend though. No height involved.”
Jimin feigns thinking before his mouth breaks into a grin.
“That would be fine with me, aside from the fact that I’m taller than you.”
Yoongi laughs, loud and happy, giving him a flick to the chest.
“You’re full of shit.”
The other’s grin widens as he blinks, and Yoongi can’t help leaning in, kissing the corner of his lips, catching them as Jimin chases after him.
“Thanks for accepting me for who I am.” He whispers against him.
“Only a fool wouldn’t.”
Jimin’s warm and real under his fingers, and a part of him had been doubting for so long he was deserving of something good like this. It feels good to fully process the fact that he deserves to be loved and respected for who he is and not who he should be according to some random fucko’s opinion.
He lets himself be consumed with affection as Jimin scoots closer, snuggling against him, mapping his nape and shoulders with his lips as his hands ground him into the couch, soft and unyielding.
“You’re so handsome.” Jimin tells him. “The way your fingers move, the shape of your hands, the sound of your voice, the purse of your lips, the curve of your neck, the collarbones peeking out of your shirts, the way you carry yourself and grin at people when they’re vulnerable, god, it’s so hot, you have no idea. You’re cool and nice and charming, and, on top of it all, you’re hot. Do you know how unfair it is?”
Yoongi drowns his outrage under another salve of kisses, fingers cupping his cheek softly, losing himself into it until they’re both out of breath and Jimin’s fingers have carded though his hair enough to leave him with a brand new hairstyle.
“You’re one to talk.” Yoongi says, low, against Jimin’s ear. “If Aphrodite had to send a son on Earth, she would’ve sent you.”
Jimin leans back, smirking, tongue caught between his teeth.
“Smooth talker.”
Yoongi smirks back, swaying a little.
“Is it working?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, which has the other scoffing.
“Insufferable.”
“Then we make a pair.”
Jimin hums, nuzzling against Yoongi’s neck, gently nipping at the skin there.
“I’m tired. Won’t you stay the night?”
Yoongi feels okay, feels appreciated, and feels safe to fully be himself. He feels good.
“Depends. Do you hog the space?”
Jimin mischievously shrugs.
“Guess you’ll have to find out.”
There’s this quiet moment where Yoongi helps Jimin with cleaning up a little, then the flustered and amused one where Jimin ushers him to his shower, lending him clothes, and Yoongi looks at every product in his bathroom, thinks about his routines, the sheer domesticity of being able to be here. He has to force himself to step into the shower and stop marveling at the room so Jimin gets a chance to wash up before dozing off.
Everything feels a bit surreal and not long after, he finds himself clean, dazed, and shirtless in front of Jimin's mirror.
“You okay in there?” Jimin asks after Yoongi’s spent an obscene amount of time staring at his reflection.
He doesn’t know whether or not he should put a shirt on.
“Yeah. Sure.” He replies, and even he can tell he doesn’t sound assured at all.
“Can I come in?” The other continues, and Yoongi hums, his shirt in his hands.
“What’s going on here?” He gently asks, walking behind him and tucking his chin over his shoulder.
Yoongi’s way of holding his shirt hides his scars as well. He feels stupid. It should be okay to show himself. Hell, he’s so happy to look the way he looks now.
“No one has seen me shirtless in ages.” He finally says.
“It’s okay.” Jimin replies, hand coming around his arms, soft and warm. “You don’t have to show me anything you don’t wan’t to.”
Yoongi smiles despite himself.
“I feel vulnerable.” He replies. “But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
Breathing in, he softly puts away his shirt, gaze falling on the scars on his chest. Not quite white yet, he feels raw, like a painting whose paint is still fresh.
“You look magnificent.” Jimin tells him, and it makes him feel proud, the genuineness in which Jimin has said that.
For the first time in a long while, he feels more than okay, he feels enough as he is, unequivocally wanted and loved.
Jimin takes his pants off under Yoongi’s confused gaze. And then he sees it.
There’s a long scar, faded into his smooth skin, running from his ankle up to his knee.
The other looks up, smiling.
“We all have scars.” He kisses his cheek. “It’s okay.” He whispers.
It makes Yoongi stangely moved, slightly choking back a tear or two. His journey becomes a journey like everyone else’s. He doesn’t have to be put aside, seen as different.
For the first time, someone sees him for who he is, and not where he’s at, and he feels infinite relief.
Jimin ushers him out to shower, and Yoongi lies down, smiling to himself, unaware of time ticking, until Jimin climbs next to him and brings the covers over them, one of his legs and arms thrown over him.
“What are you smiling about?” He asks, and Yoongi has to bite his grin back.
“The way you make me feel like I deserve a spot in this world.”
Jimin hums, hugging him tighter.
“This is only the beginning.” He replies, and Yoongi laughs, airy and light, kissing his forehead.